


October

by cubedcoffeecake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Amulets, BAMF Draco Malfoy, Bottom Tom Riddle, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gen, Good Peter Pettigrew, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, James Potter Lives, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape Friendship, Lily Evans Potter Lives, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Mentor Peter Pettigrew, Mind Manipulation, Past Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Cedric Diggory - Freeform, Past Harry Potter/Cho Chang - Freeform, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Possessive Tom Riddle, Post-Hogwarts, Potioneer Lily Evans Potter, Potioneer Severus Snape, Power Bottom Tom Riddle, Professor Remus Lupin, Sane Tom Riddle, Slytherin Harry Potter, Tom Riddle at Borgin & Burke's, Tomarry Halloween Exchange 2018, Top Harry Potter, Vampire Tom Riddle, except burke, how many tags can i possibly think of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 04:32:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16381472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cubedcoffeecake/pseuds/cubedcoffeecake
Summary: O hushed October morning mild,Begin the hours of this day slow.Make the day seem to us less brief.Hearts not adverse to be beguiled,Beguile us in the way you know.





	October

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AWitchesBrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWitchesBrew/gifts).



January 1999

 

The only part of this scene Tom doesn’t love is Walburga’s screaming.

Harry moans as Tom sucks particularly strongly on his neck. He bucks his hips a bit and Tom pushes him into the wall harder, rattling picture frames.

“You’re so good to me,” Tom moans into Harry’s ear. Harry shivers at how silky the tone is. Tom always sounds like this when he feeds, and Harry loves it.

“Just  _ look _ at this lovely house you’ve gotten--for  _ me _ .” He pulls his fangs out of Harry as he murmurs ‘me,’ and Harry lets his head sag forward onto Tom’s shoulder.

“You-- _ mmmmm _ \--you deserve it, Tom. Oh, Merlin, yessss--you dessserve the world.”

As he always does, Tom laps at the wounds his teeth have left on Harry’s neck, sucking lightly and enjoying Harry’s twitches and moaning, leaving his lover hissing out his words.

“Didn’t you say all the bedrooms are upstairs?” Tom asks, reaching up to grab Harry’s chin and force their gazes to meet. At Harry’s nod, Tom’s smile widens. “I suppose we’ll just have to christen the den first, won’t we?”

He tugs on Harry’s shoulder, dragging the dazed man after him and through a nearby doorway.

* * *

1949

 

_ Borgin and Burke’s. _

_ Tom Marvolo Riddle had been top of his class all seven years at Hogwarts. He had been chosen as Slytherin Prefect, and had become Head Boy. He had won the admiration of his richest, greatest schoolmates, charmed his teachers, and become so renowned a dueler he could walk through Knockturn Alley and all sane creatures would keep their distance. _

_ Yet here he was, a salesclerk at a dingy, underhanded antique dealer’s shop in Knockturn Alley. _

_ There was no way up the political ladder from here. No worthwhile connections to make. If anything, he was threatening losing the connections he had already formed. He couldn’t study abroad until he looked a bit older, though, and he desperately sought the treasures of Hogwarts’ Founders, so this position was the best temporary solution he could find. _

_ Even if he wanted to strangle every customer who came in and batted their eyelashes at him as he smiled winsomely in their direction. _

_ As Mrs. Wollumburkst perused the broken watches, he would think about how stupid the pinstripes on his uniform looked, and how disgusting his apartment had to be with the meager pay he received. While Lady Longbottom pulled her husband to the bookshelves, he thought of the opulence he would live in once Lord Voldemort had arrived in Great Britain. When Burke appeared to sneer at him and shove him around, he would remember the satisfaction of killing his birth father, and remind himself that patience was the key to success. _

_ Occasionally, the job wasn’t as bad. When it was so dark and dreary a day outside that not even the normal patrons of the Alley were willing to go shop to shop, Tom could examine and toy with the wares without much fear of Borgin or Burke appearing to scold him. He could read the ancient tomes, converse with the snake-embossed weaponry, or try to research the shop’s various wares in some of the books he’d liberated from the Hogwarts library. _

_ Today, however, Tom made the mistake of getting lost in a book. It would be the last time he ever made such a mistake. _

_ One of the new books Borgin had hauled in that morning wrote about the sentience of ancient noble families’ houses. Everything about the topic was fascinating Tom, and he found himself enraptured by the passion the writer clearly had about the subject. Someday he would find an excuse to stay in one of these manors and look for some of the things the book was mentioning… _

_ Two things happened at once. _

_ Burke apparated in and opened his mouth to berate Tom for reading on the job at the exact same moment the doors exploded inward. _

_ Completely caught off guard, by the time Tom had ripped his mind from his thoughts on the book the creature from outside had grabbed onto him and shoved him to the ground, conveniently knocking Tom’s wand from its holster. ‘Vampire,’ Tom realized belatedly, the thought sluggish. The vampire had extended its fangs and latched onto Tom’s shoulder before they’d even hit the ground. _

_ His shoulder didn’t have any good veins, so the creature roughly pulled off and bit again, closer to Tom’s neck. The initial bite was sharply painful, but the next instant Tom lost his train of thought and went limp. It felt like he was separated from his body, the vampire greedily sucking out his blood nothing but a vague impression. He blinked slowly, trying to catch a thought, but he couldn’t seem to feel much of anything. _

_ Suddenly he snapped back into awareness, gasping futilely as he tried to sit up and glanced around to take account of his surroundings. _

_ The vampire was attacking Burke. Why? Had Burke been stupid enough to attack it…. _

_ Only then did Tom realize that he couldn’t breathe--and he was cold. So, so cold…. It had drained him. Tom’s eyes widened. No. _

_ That was it, though. He had no blood left to give, so it had gone after Burke. _

_ Tom refused to die at all, he certainly wasn’t going to die like this. _

_ He summoned every ounce of strength he had left and reached for him wand. A heartfelt incendio put the vampire out of mind for the moment, and Tom crawled toward Burke. He had minutes before he died; he needed blood immediately, and there was one obvious source. _

_ Burke screamed when he realized what Tom was doing, but he’d always been a rather weak man. He couldn’t stop Tom when Tom was armed and he was not. _

_ A lesser man couldn’t have bit into someone’s neck and drank their fill without being forced to. It was a strange, horrific sensation--but Tom had done much worse than this in his life, and would do much worse than this if it meant he could escape death. _

_ The other vampire snarled as he finally stumbled to his feet. Tom rose from his kneeling position and stared the creature in the eyes. Both had blood dripping down their faces, but the other seemed more disconcerted by it than Tom. It had clearly never imagined a wizard could fight back against an attack. _

_ Without warning it lunged for Tom, but his reflexes moved faster than he’d before imagined was possible, and he’d spun out of its way and fired a curse at its back before it seemed to notice that he’d moved. This time Tom had the presence of mind to summon a knife and behead the creature as it rose back to its feet. _

_ A door opened the moment before the head feel to the floor with a thud. _

_ “Merlin’s balls, what have we here?” _

_ Tom turned toward Borgin and straightened up. Borgin was a shrimp of a man. Shrewd, and fairly clever, but small in stature and a poor excuse for a wizard. His strength lay in bargaining. Tom was tall, with broad shoulders, a good stance, and a wand in one hand while he held a knife with the other, dripping blood from his chin and hand. He had always made an imposing figure, and now, standing in the dimly lighted shop, he was clearly something inhuman as well. Something… better. _

_ No one in their right mind could imagine Borgin winning this fight. _

_ “This is tragic, my oh my,” he murmured before turning to smile crookedly at Tom. His eyes twinkled, and he clearly had come by an idea he thought deviously clever. Tom held his expression in a stone-like mask, not breaking eye contact. Borgin turned away first, and continued. _

_ “Tom Riddle, the pride of Slytherin--a creature. Such a shame, such a shame. Just the other day they passed a new restriction on a creature’s right to owning property, didn’t they? And the Minister seems quite insistent that the next step will be removing their citizenship, no?” He’s right, of course. Tom read the papers more carefully than Borgin. Still, he didn’t flinch. Borgin would target any weakness Tom allowed. _

_ “Hard to imagine you living in the streets, isn’t it? That’s where all the muggles in orphanages end up, though, so I suppose you’d have some friends there, though, wouldn’t you Mr. Riddle?” Deep breaths. Killing Borgin unnecessarily would be therapeutic, but not helpful in proving himself to the authorities to still be humane. _

_ “But you have worked so hard to make something of yourself. I’ve heard that Hogwarts Professor--Dumbledore, isn’t it?--claims you to be nothing but a brute, but I never really thought I’d see the day when the world agreed.” _

_ Tom’s expression twisted with fury and his eyes burned for a split second before he dropped his wand and the knife and lunged for Borgin. He grabbed his neck and threw him into the far wall hard enough to cause cracks to spiderweb through it. Borgin reached for his wand as Tom strode over but couldn’t grab it before he was being lifted up and pinned against the wall. Tom bared his teeth. _

_ “You killed Burke,” Borgin gasped. “I’ll be needing a new business partner. You--you hate it here, I can tell. You plan to be more. But you can’t have that anymore. _

_ “Sign on to the store, or I’ll make sure the whole world knows what you’ve become.” _

* * *

September 1998

 

“Harry! Oh, look at you, you must have grown another inch!” Remus exclaims.

“I haven’t grown an inch,” Harry laughs. “You’re an inch shorter, clearly.”

“Oh, quiet you. Come in! Are you just here to say hello?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Thought I’d make your weekend a bit more interesting--Dad said you’d been firecalling a lot. You need to get out more! Find a date!”

“Oh no, no, no, don’t you go giving me that smile. I’m perfectly happy with the occasional visit from my charming godson.”

“Uh huh.”

“Uh huh. Now, let me get us some tea!” Harry smiles after Remus as he disappears around the corner to set some water boiling.

“Tell me, what have you been up to since graduating?” Remus asks as he returned.

“Oh, going visiting, mostly. Not much I can do until I’m old enough to begin Auror training.”

“I’ve heard your mother tell you a thousand times that’s not true, so I won’t lecture you about it. She’s right, though! These are your years to get to know the world you’re so determined to protect!” Harry’s jaw tightens and he fixes his gaze on a portrait off to his left.

“Sirius and Peter say hi. They’re working tirelessly on a new line of fireworks,” Harry says, changing the subject abruptly. Remus eyes him with a bit of a frown, so he pushes on. “Fred and George have loads of new ideas for just about everything. Peter says that they may even be stepping up into development soon, instead of just being floor reps.”

“Yes, I’m sure any of their professors could’ve predicted that,” Remus chuckles. “Merlin knows they’re as smart as they are determined to make Filch’s life miserable.

“How’s your mum?” he asks after a pause.

“Oh, she and Severus just released that new alchemic something or other that alters the effects of something commonly used in poisons, or something? Huge deal with all the purebloods who are laughably paranoid about enemies being out to murder them, but they’ve also had a surprising amount of interest from parents who think they can coat their house in the stuff and it’ll keep their kid from dying because they ate something they shouldn’t.”

“That’s a revolutionary idea, though it sounds like it would encourage parental negligence.”

“I dunno, really. Severus is trying to figure out if it actually does that, I think, while Mum’s trying to explain to people that it’s not a completed potion--you add it to other stuff and it alters that thing’s properties, you know.”

“Mmm. They must be terribly busy, then.”

“Yeah, pretty busy. Dad’s got a case right now, too. I’ve been spending most of my time following him around the Auror office. He thinks that seeing the stresses of a big case in action will help prepare me for having to work a big case myself someday.”

Harry shrugs. Remus hums. The tea kettle whistles, and he prepares the tea. They drink the tea while Remus shares some entertaining stories about his second years letting loose a cage full of pixies and then being unable to catch them all.

There isn’t too much to talk about though, and after about an hour Harry makes his excuses and takes his leave. He likes Remus a lot, but he prefers when he’s with Dad or Peter or Sirius. He always seems more comfortable when he’s with them than when he’s talking to Harry alone.

Tragically, Harry doesn’t have anything else to do today. The Auror team are out checking up on a tip, so there’s no one in the office to shadow right now, and he has no interest in getting in the way at Mum’s shop or at Peter’s. Off to Draco’s, then, to get drunk and argue over Quidditch. Again.

He’s a step away from a self-pity moment when he hears Hagrid bellow his name. Turning around, he spots the groundskeeper outside his hut, tending to the pumpkins it looks like. It is getting to be that time of year. A couple more weeks and Dumbledore will want the whole harvest for the decorations at the Halloween Feast.

“Come on over, ‘Arry! I have a favor to ask yeh!” Harry smiles a bit resignedly. He loves Hagrid, but running favors for him tend to be… well, actually, they’re usually the perfect amount of illegal to be exciting. Maybe this’ll give him something to do with his afternoon.

“Good afternoon, Hagrid! How’re the pumpkins?”

“Oh, spectacular! Almost as good as can be!” There it was.

“Almost?” Hagrid’s sheepish smile confirms Harry’s suspicions.

“Well, y’see, I’ve heard that there’s a new kind o’ sigil charm Britain’s finally gotten in from France. Never want to cooperate, the two o’ them, y’know,” Hagrid says in a very loud whisper. “Supposed to encourage the ground to stay nice and rich, offer ‘em plenty o’ food so they can grow nice and big, stuff like that.”

“That sounds nice. The bigger the pumpkins the better, I’m sure.”

“That’s the spirit! I only have one wee problem, y’see.”

“You can’t go get the sigil because it hasn’t come up for sale in Diagon yet.”

“Exactly! Yeh’ve always been a smart one, eh Harry?”

“Thanks, Hagrid. I’m sure the pumpkins will be just fine the normal size, though, so it isn’t that bad, yeah?”

“Well… no, I s’pose not. They’d be all right, they would. But… They’d be  _ better _ bigger, don’t yeh think?” Harry presses his eyes closed and breathes slowly out his nose.

“Would you like me to maybe look for this sigil for you, Hagrid?”

“Oh, Harry, what a lad! Would yeh? Not be a problem for yeh? If yeh’re busy, I understand--”

“No, I’m not really busy. I’m sure I can pick it up for you. I suppose it’ll be in Knockturn, won’t it?”

“Oh, well, yes, probably. But really, Knockturn’s only that bad at night! And a strong lad like yeh shouldn’t have any trouble at all. It’ll look a bit like an L upside down, with a T through a D underneath it! Probably carved in a round bit of wood. D’you think yeh could bring it by tomorrow morning?”

“An upside down L with a T through a D underneath it. Yeah, I don’t see why not. Before lunch?”

“Yes, that exactly! Thank yeh Harry! I’ll see if I can’t make yeh some breakfast in return.”

“Oh, uh, that’s great Hagrid. Thank you.”

“O’ course!”

* * *

“You were actually conned into going into Knockturn Alley by  _ Hagrid _ , of all the people you know?” Draco asks as Harry finishes his story. “You’re going to put your stellar reputation on the line because you didn’t want to say no to that bumbling oaf?! His pumpkins don’t need to be any bigger than they already are! Is that really worth risking your acceptance into the Auror program?”

Harry might feel ashamed about his poor decision if it weren’t for the fact that his friend was saying all this while reclining on a silk settee in 4000 galleon dress robes, half drunk. Draco doesn’t get to judge him while he is being laughably aristocratic--it’s a rule Harry established during their first year of Hogwarts and has held to ever since.

“Oh, fuck off you ponce. Any idea where I could find something like that?”

“As a matter of fact, I know exactly where you can find the very amulet you described!” Draco announces, sitting up abruptly and sloshing half the wine out of his glass. “My father took me to Borgin and Burke’s just the other day, and Borgin tried to sell it to us! Sleeze, he is, but a decent salesman. If I had any need at all for a pumpkin growing amulet I would’ve gotten it.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Uh huh. Borgin and Burke’s, you said? Where’s that?”

“Oh, it’s not too far into the alley. Shady antique place. They sell all manner of strange, hard-to-get items. You’ll know it when you see it,” Draco promises. “Do make sure it’s Borgin you’re talking to, though. The other owner--hilariously, his name isn’t Burke--is far more capable and likely to give you trouble since very obviously you don’t know your way around the illegal. He’s tall, a striking fellow, really.”

“All right. Shady antique place, go for the shrew?” Draco claps his hands a few times, sloshing out the rest of his drink.

“There you go! Now, let’s change the subject to something more  _ interesting _ .”

“You?” Harry asks drily.

“Me!”

“I’d love to Draco, but if I want to get to Knockturn tonight I should go now. It’s already evening, any later and it’ll actually be dark.” Draco pauses and considers that, frowning.

“You’re right, sadly. But you really shouldn’t be out near dusk, either. Best to get up early tomorrow morning,” he cautions. He goes to take a swig of alcohol and stares at his glass in confusion when he realizes it’s empty. Harry snorts.

“Yeah, thanks, but I have no interest in rising with the sun. I’ll just get it over with now. You up to getting some drinks with the gang tomorrow night?”

“Mmm, no,” Draco murmurs distractedly, still focussed on his drink. “Meeting with Father. Maybe over the weekend, though.”

“All right, owl me whenever,” Harry replies as he stands up and dusts off his legs. “Don’t run into a wall and break your nose again.”

“Hey! We agreed to never mention--”

* * *

The further into Knockturn Alley he goes, the more Harry begins to question the wisdom in coming this late.

Diagon had been a sight to see as he walked through it. The golden rays of the setting sun cast the cobblestones and building into warm colors and made them appear even more magical than usual. The crowds had thinned to the point that only a few witches and wizards were hurrying through, trying to buy one last item before the shops closed for the night.

Once he turned the corner into Knockturn, though, the light seemed to instantly vanish. There are no golden hues or warm glows, but instead grey light filtering past the tops of buildings and shadows in a quantity that seems unnatural. As he’d expected, the hags and other derelict creatures skulking about shy away from him. He’s quite tall--a good bit over six feet--and the training he’s begun to give himself an edge when he begins the Auror program has left him visibly strong. He’s not an easy target in any way except for his inexperience with the locale, which Harry hopes he’s successfully hiding by keeping a straight face and calm posture.

It only takes a minute or two of walking for Harry to spot what must be the shop Draco was talking about. He sees the shape of a small man slinking about on the other side of the tinted windows, and Harry thinks that this should work out perfectly. He crosses the street and has nearly reached the shop when something reaches out from a tiny sidestreet to his left and pulls him into the shadows before he’s fully realized what has happened.

His focus on the shop distracted him from his surroundings, and the vampire pinning him against the wall clearly noticed.

Harry’s reflexes are fast, but the vampire’s are drastically faster. He goes to kick it and the vampire dodges and spins him around, slamming his face into the wall and pinning him with its entire body, its supernatural strength enough to keep him from being able to escape. Harry tries to summon up some wandless magic as a last ditch attempt to throw it backward, but right at that moment it sinks its fangs into his neck.

The sensation is a familiar one to Harry. His body relaxes completely as his mind seems to float off, contentedly cut off from his body. He is anything but content, though--he can’t stand the thought of someone else having any measure of control over his body. Never could. Just like when facing an Imperius, he concentrates and forces his mind back into his body. Once his eyes blink open, though, he realizes that there is nothing he can do right now. He is still pinned against the wall, and he knows that he has less chance of dislodging the vampire while its teeth are in him than he had before it bit.

He tries to shake it off anyway, weakly pushing at its shoulders. To his surprise, it stops still and then pulls away, blinking at him with an expression too close to awe for Harry’s taste. It smiles, eyes lighting up.

“What have we here?” it murmurs. “Pretty, tasty, and powerful. Shame you don’t come around these parts much.”

“F-fuck  _ off _ ,” Harry hisses. Its smile softens a bit and its eyes glint with something Harry is equal parts terrified by and drawn to.

“Let’s see,” it hisses back, pulling Harry’s head down so that their noses are nearly touching, “if I can’t convince you to change your habits a bit.”

Before Harry realizes what’s going on he’s being moved. It hauls him out of the sidestreet, and in moments, they’re entering a shop. He pulls his head up as much as he can, what with the vampire’s grip on his hair, and gasps when he recognizes this shop as the one he’d come to the alley for. The weasle-y man hardly glances at them as Harry is dragged across the showfloor and through a door to the back.

This must be the other store owner that Draco had warned him about.

“Stop!” he snaps. “Do you know who I am?” Announcing himself to be associated with the Aurors to a native of Knockturn Alley would normally be suicide, but at the moment it may save him from being murdered. If the creature was investigated and its vampireness (what’s that word?) discovered, it’d be thrown in Azkaban for co-owning property. Hopefully, it would just let Harry go… Instead, it laughed.

“Pretty, and powerful, but a bit prideful too, aren’t you?” it coos. Harry shivers from disgust--the implication of the words disturbs him. His reaction has _nothing_ to do with the intense eyes boring into him, or the face they’re attached to. The face that looks like a perfectly hewn statue come to life…

Harry groans, his eyes rolling back into his head, as an amulet is tied around his neck. After a bit of an internal struggle he manages to focus his gaze on it and sucks in a sharp breath. A lust amulet.  _ Fuck _ . That’s not good.

What is worse is the hand with five long, thin, dexterous fingers rubbing the outside of his pants and coaxing his burgeoning erection into a distracting problem. He’s slowly descending into a place where he’s aware of nothing but the pleasure burning through his veins when the vampire seizes the moment and bites him again. This time when Harry’s mind floats away, the sense of wrongness is distinctly missing.

There’s no telling how long he floats off in a blissed out high, but when he comes back to himself he’s alone.

The come inside his pants is still sticky and fresh, and Harry realizes, mortified, that that bothers him more than the lingering itch of pain from the teeth marks in his neck. He props himself up on his elbows and stays still for a moment to wait for his head to stop spinning. When he looks around, what he sees does nothing but confuse him more.

He’s lying in a bed. It’s made simply, but is terribly comfortable. There are candles floating all along the ceiling, like in Hogwarts, and they have the worrying effect of making him feel at home. The amulet is gone, thank Merlin, but so is the vampire. It could be watching him from anywhere. Harry doesn’t have to pat for his wand to know that it’s not on his person. He can feel the aching lack of it in his core.

Escaping shouldn’t be too difficult. He’d need to find his wand and hope that there’s a window near the bedroom’s door, but now that he was alert and expecting an attack--

“Hello darling. Woken up, have you? I’ve brought you some tea. You seemed to tire yourself out a good bit with that orgasm,” the vampire purred, popping into existence directly to Harry’s right. He yelped and jumped, rolling off the other side of the bed and lowering into a crouch on instinct. It ignored his reaction, pulling out a wand and setting the tray holding the tea and some biscuits to levitate.

“You don’t have to stay, of course,” it says, not so much as glancing over at where Harry is carefully inching toward the door. “I would so enjoy it if you did, but there’s always next time.” It took a small, pureblood-like bite out of one of the biscuits and poured some milk into one of the teacups.

Harry chose the moment that it lifted the cup to drink as his best chance at escape. He tore his eyes from it’s adam’s apple bobbing as it swallowed and bolted for the door, knocking it open and running down the hallway it opened into.

The vampire doesnn’t seem to be pursuing him, but Harry doesn’t dare slow down. He runs, and runs, down the stairs as he sees no windows, and across the showfloor, and out into the alley. He runs all the way back into Diagon, only slowing to a walk as he approaches the Leaky and some distant part of his mind warns him that anyone who knows him would be very suspicious if they saw him like this.

Heart pounding, glancing over his shoulder every other moment, barely processing any of the greetings being thrown his way by patrons of the pub, Harry makes his way straight to the Floo. Some detached part of his mind tosses vague excuses back at the people trying to engage him in conversation before he throws the powder in.

He must’ve deemed Hermione’s apartment the safest place to be right now, as she catches him when he stumbles out onto the other side of the Floo. Guilt stirs in his chest at causing the worried expression on her face, but he passes out cold the next moment.

* * *

“I didn’t have any idea something like this would happen, Granger! You have to know that!”

“Why else would you let him wander into Knockturn at night? You gave him instructions, even!”

“I was  _ drunk _ , Hermione!” Draco’s voice breaks, and Hermione pauses. Harry doesn’t blame her--he’s been friends with Draco for years and has only heard him lose composure like this once or twice.

“I don’t--I didn’t mean for--if there was any way for me to go back in time and take that back,” he chokes, “I would. You have to know that.”

“...I know.”

Draco lets out his breath and falls backward onto ‘Mione’s couch.

“He seems to be fine.” Hermione sits down carefully a few feet away from Draco.

“Yes, he does. He didn’t lose too much blood, and given the lack of tears from the teeth marks, I’d guess--”

“That it let him go,” Draco cuts in. “Yes. And where would we be if it hadn’t?”

Harry fades back out of consciousness again, feeling guiltier than he has in years.

* * *

Waking up hadn’t been pleasant. Draco and Hermione were both in mother hen mode at the same time, something Harry doesn’t think has ever happened before. He kept his eyes glued on the ground as they pulled the details of his trip from him, and he only got through it without running because he knew that facing his friends would be better than facing his parents.

Now, he’s wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets with a cup of hot cocoa in his hands and a dressing of dittany on the holes in his neck. Draco is curled up by his side, head tucked into Harry’s shoulder as he lightly snores.

Both Draco and Hermione tend to be a bit controlling. They’d learned to be much more healthy about it than they had been as kids, and Harry really doesn’t mind it anymore, but being unable to do anything about what happened to Harry is making them feel helpless, and that’s something they don’t handle well. Hermione has immersed herself in research, and Draco is being very physically clingy.

Laws about the restrictions on vampires are great, theoretically, but Harry doesn’t expect that knowing them will do anything but make Hermione feel better. Draco is likely going to start following Harry around like a human shadow to try to keep him out of trouble, but that probably won’t help him much either.

The vampire still has Harry’s wand, and he won’t be able to move on from this until he has it back.

It takes a week for him to get the slip on Draco’s posse. They all know why they’re tag-team stalking Harry, and none of them have taken their eyes off him for a moment. He’s far too likely to do something stupid for their taste. Like, for example, giving them the slip and going straight back to Borgin and Burke’s.

A wand is a terribly personal thing. In hindsight, maybe he should have flattered Draco into being his formal secondary and coming with him to take it back. Draco is familiar with this area and these people and Harry is not; Draco has a wand and is near as good a dueler as Harry is, except Harry doesn’t actually have a wand right now; and Draco is traditional enough to respect that reclaiming one’s wand is more a matter of pride than necessity, while anyone else Harry knows would try to convince him to just go buy a new one.

Instead, however, Harry got it stuck in his head that this is a personal battle for him alone to fight, and somehow made it around Theo Nott and all the way the storefront of Borgin and Burke’s before thinking about any of this.

Too late to turn back now, he pushes open the door and grimaces at the lack of a welcome bell. The shop is eerie, and reeking of magic that does not mesh with Harry’s own. He slowly walks around several displays, looking for any sign of another human in the place. His eye is caught by an amulet--the one Hagrid had wanted. He grimaces, remembering the guilt he’d felt when Hagrid owled his concern after Harry never showed up for breakfast.

He doesn’t, however, make the same mistake that got him caught in the alley last week, and when movement appears in his peripheral vision he’s turned around with knife in hand before it can come near him.

It’s him. It. The vampire. It must be working the shop today, instead of the shrimpy man. Harry swallows hard, but doesn’t let his knife wafer from its position between them. It smiles, a spark in its eyes that reminds Harry of Severus when he’s dicing the eyes of a new batch of newts. There’s interest in the gaze, and approval, but both in a very disconcerting way.

“I’ve come for my wand,” Harry says quietly. His lips tighten at the creature’s chuckle, and the way it walks off to the right, not bothering to acknowledge Harry with more than amusement. Harry is tall, visibly strong, and holding out a long, rough, intimidating knife that a dark arts specialist of any kind should be able to tell at a glance is cursed. It had taken Harry hours of digging in the Black vault to find it. It is not something to laugh about, especially in the hands of a mildly-capable wielder.

He carefully follows the vampire, not relaxing an inch. It walks past row after row of unsavory items, none of which launch out at Harry. It doesn’t grab anything on the weapons row they pass, nor knock any tall pile over such that it blocks the way. It just calmly makes its way up to a counter, and then around it and to the door to the back.

Harry’s knife does waver now.  _ The bedroom _ . His only memories of it are problematically nontraumatic, but he has no interest in re-entering it. Ever. He was pinned too easily. The vampire has enough of an edge over him in there…

It reappears, exiting the back with Harry’s wand in hand.

“How about we sit down,” it murmurs, voice low and smooth, “and have a bit of a talk?”

“I think not,” snaps a voice behind them. The vampire glances up in surprise, having been so focused on Harry that it wasn’t paying attention to their surroundings. Harry doesn’t have to turn around, because he knows that voice. Draco steps up beside Harry, wand raised.

“Mr. Riddle, if I’m not mistaken.” The vampire’s expression went stony, its grip on Harry’s wand tightening. “You would do well to hand that wand over  _ immediately _ , if you wish to see another day outside of Azkaban.”

Harry is going to get hell for this later, but right now, he has never been happier to see anyone in his entire life. The vampire’s face looks like an impressively impassive ‘ _ oh shit _ ’ expression, and it wouldn’t dare fuck with a Malfoy. It would be Draco’s absolute pleasure to fling around his influence and ship someone off express to Azkaban, and everyone who has ever met a Malfoy would know that.

“Heir Malfoy. My apologies, I had not realized that you were acquaintances,” it says cooly. “It seems there has been a misunderstanding.”

“Your treatment of my friend leaves no room for misunderstanding,” Draco replies coldly. It looks stunned for a moment--purebloods are very choosy about who they will endorse as a friend. Tragically, it seems to be delighted by this, rather than terrified.

“I suppose not,” it murmurs, glance calculating as it swiftly tosses Harry’s wand to him. He catches it with his unoccupied hand and lets out a relieved breath at the rush of warm, familiar magic that rushes to the surface of his skin. Draco glances over briefly, eyes softening a tad.

“We’ll make our leave now,” Harry says roughly, glaring at the vampire. It looks him in the eye and nods.

“Borgin and Burke’s welcomes your patronage, should you ever have need to return.” Its smile is creepy and Harry keeps his face still to mask his discomfort, while Draco outright snarls in return.

“We shan’t.”

A minute later and they’re back in Diagon, striding toward a middle-class establishment Harry favors, shoulder to shoulder. Harry glances behind them at where the light goes grey in Knockturn’s entrance and shudders. Draco’s eyes are on him when he turns back, and his friend smiles weakly.

Draco must be awfully shaken, for him to not be angry at Harry yet. They settle down at a table in the back of the cozy restaurant, and Harry tries not to feel guilty yet again. Draco hates physical confrontation like that--yet, the moment he heard that Harry was in danger, he had rushed to stand by his side. Harry glanced down to where he was picking at his jeans and smiled a little. What was the saying, that adversity shows how strong your friendships are?

“You could’ve died,” Draco murmurs. Harry glances up and sees that his friend is staring off at a painting over Harry’s shoulder. “He--it, could’ve killed you. If Theo hadn’t noticed you were gone so soon…” Draco swallows thickly. Heart squeezing at seeing distress written on Draco’s face so plainly, Harry slides out of his booth and around into Draco’s, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him tight. Draco closes his eyes and leans against Harry. His composure visibly straightens, but Harry can still feel how he relaxes.

Someone clears their throat and Harry looks over to see Hermione and Theo standing by the table. He smiles weakly, and they smile weakly back. He glances down, and they sit down. The waitress comes over and they all order a bit of food and some butterbeer. If it weren’t for the weakness of their smiles, one could almost believe that they were all back in Hogsmeade.

* * *

It has been a month, now, since anything particularly crazy has happened in Harry’s life. At first he laid low, relishing having his wand back and doing everything he could to show his friends that he appreciated them by not giving them any reason to panic. Now, though, he’s getting restless.

He really doesn’t want to hang out at the Auror office right now, as the holes in his neck are still faintly showing. It would be suicide to stay around his mother and Severus for any prolonged period of time if he isn’t able to sit perfectly still, so they are out of the question too, and he doesn’t feel like spending all of his time at his old school, no matter how magical it may be.

So, that leaves the joke shop.

Sirius and Peter are supposed to co-own the place, but it is a well-known fact that Sirius spends half his time inventing and half his time out in the world fucking off while Peter runs pretty much everything. Peter always claims to be fine with it, and Sirius will usually come back when someone calls him needing help, so everyone leaves it be, but because of this when Harry hangs out here he sees much more of Peter than of Sirius.

Indulgent godfather that he is, Sirius gives Harry gifts. He bought him his leather jacket when he was thirteen and desperately wanted one. He bought Harry cool weapons small enough to hide from Mum, and pranks and knick-knacks and candy. Peter, however, was the one who had sat down with Harry when he had his terrifying first crush on Cedric Diggory and explained that it was okay to like another boy, and had then the next year sat down with him to explain that it was okay to like other boys  _ and _ still like pretty girls, like Cho Chang. He counselled Harry on how his short fiery fail of a dalliance with Ginny Weasley, the popular Gryffindor Chaser, didn’t make him shallow. He even helped Harry figure out how to deal with the mutual attraction between Harry and Draco when they were about to graduate, as they both wanted to stay just friends but going through a phase of wanting to fuck your best friend into a wall was very disconcerting and made you wonder if that was still on the table.

Really, when it came down to it, Peter had taught Harry how communication was what kept any kind of relationship intact, and for that reason Harry is more comfortable around him than any other adult he knows.

Explaining to Peter that he’d been bitten by a vampire and it had made him and his friends all painfully aware of their mortality was probably something that he should do sooner or later, as Peter would likely have some brilliant advice for him, but he really, really wanted to do it later over sooner.

Conveniently, the first person he runs into upon entering the shop is Fred Weasley. Either of the twins could make a good distraction, but Fred is the Weasley who likes to fuck with Harry the most. He calls it “preparing Harry for becoming an Auror,” but it is, in fact, nothing more than unfair targeting. Harry hasn’t had a chance to fully process Fred’s presence before he is hit in the chest with a bubble balloon, and the war begins.

A bubble balloon is a brilliant contraption that turns any non-living material it touches into bubbles. It doesn’t work very well on substances like gold or stone, but it is very much a hazard to plaster, wood, or in this case, cloth. Harry’s own shirt becomes a barrier of bubbles that blind him from being able to see where Fred took off to. By the time he’s waved the bubbles away, the ginger has vanished.

Narrowing his eyes, Harry goes for the nearest stash of bubble balloons that he is aware of, hoping to stage a counter-attack, but is tragically cut off by George. He successfully dodges the missile this time, but can’t access the stash, having to instead run into the potions aisle. He pauses here for a moment to come up with a strategy, as neither of the twins are suicidal enough to want to risk hitting a potion with a bubble balloon.

His best chance, Harry decides, is to play on his strengths--in this case, literally. He steps up onto one of the shelves and pulls himself up to the top of the aisle. From here, he can see around the entire shop. Fred and George aren’t guarding each end of the potions aisle, but are instead by the pygmy puffs and fireworks respectively. Places that will become chaotic when they launch their ambush. Smart.

Just as Harry is trying to decide which of them he wants to leap down behind and dump their bucket of balloons onto their head, the door opens. Which sucks. Normally no one comes in Friday mornings--

Harry’s expression brightens. It’s Draco!

Half of Harry is bemused that he’s seen so damn much of that white-blond hair lately, but the other half is delighted, because if there’s one person in the wizarding world who absolutely despises bubble balloons, it’s Draco Malfoy.

“Draco!” he hollers, “My wonderful, beloved friend! Have you come to brighten my day?”

At first, Draco’s expression as he cranes his head and looks up to find Harry is rather confused. Then it’s annoyed, and finally, the horror dawns on him, just as the twins appear from both sides with bubble balloons in hand.

An hour later, Peter walks in to find his two assistants in a shop that’s unrealistically clean, and sighs.

Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor, Draco is wearing a furious glare and no shirt, and Harry is wearing a sparkling smile and nothing else but his pants.

“You have to admit, that was fun.”

“It was  _ not _ fun,” Draco grits through his teeth.

“Looots of fuuuun,” Harry sing-songs.

Draco death-stares at him for a moment before his expression suddenly changes. Every hint of malice magically disappears and he fixes Harry with his most winsome smile, leaving Harry blinking for a moment.

“You know what is, however, fun?” Harry pales.

“I  _ really  _ don’t.” Draco’s smile takes on a manic edge.

“ _ Dances _ .”

* * *

Harry fidgets with the edge of his dress robes as he internally bemoans his fate.

Draco is off spinning with some--admittedly dashing--Italian he’s apparently personally invited. Not to a Malfoy gala, but to an actual Ministry gala. If Draco weren’t Draco, Harry would never believe it, but his friend probably did see some hot guy he wanted to shag and get him a personal invitation to a Ministry gala to woo him. Good for Draco, really, Harry was happy for him--but this meant that Harry had been purposely dragged to the dance just to be abandoned. Which is just plain dreadful.

It also means that when his old potions professor, Horace Slughorn, appears in his line of sight, Harry has no convenient means of escape.

“Harry, my boy!”

“Good evening, professor.” Oh, that he wasn’t trying to get a respectable job. Harry daydreams about brushing off Slughorn, but the consequences to his future career aren’t worth it.

“You look even better than you did when last I saw you! Been keeping busy, have you?”

“I have, sir.”

“Oh, good, good, wonderful for the younger generations to stay busy. How has your mother been, dear boy? I hear she’s putting a new potion on the market!” Slughorn dislikes Severus as much as he likes Mum.“Oh, yes, it’s quite revolutionary.”

“Indeed, indeed! Shame you aren’t to follow in her steps—but make no mistake, an Auror is quite a profession as well!” Harry really wishes someone would come kill him right about now. He glances over enviously at where Draco is making out with his Italian friend while somehow continuing to gracefully spin around the floor. Sighing, Harry knocks back the rest of his drink.

“...and over there is, of course, the Head Auror! But you know Kingsley, of course…” Harry opens his mouth to cut in, but right then someone else approaches them. Harry glances over and freezes.

“Oh, yes, look here! This is a good old friend of mine here, a member of my Slug Club years before you, Harry. This is Tom Riddle—Tom, do meet Harry Potter! His parents…”

Harry stares at ‘Tom’ in horror. The vampire.

For once, though, its expression is charmingly pleasant, and it is somehow managing to appear fixated on every word coming out of Slughorn’s trap. That is… impressive, though also a bit terrifying.

“Don’t you agree, Harry?” Harry’s eyes widen in alarm and he is about to hastily agree when he sees it--Riddle, apparently--shake its head minutely at him. In his pause, Slughorn adds, “That the Aurors would do well to assist the potioneers with safety procedures?”

_ Fuck _ . If he’d agreed to that and it had gotten back to Dad and Severus…

“I think the potioneers would be...less efficient with outside intrusion,” Harry replies haltingly, not sure how to respond to that politely. He has too many potioneers and Aurors in his life.

“Yes, I must agree with Mr. Potter. Perhaps the Aurors should be more focussed on monitoring the distribution instead? They could perhaps…” Harry marvels at Riddle’s redirection of the conversation for a moment before sneaking away while both of the leeches are distracted. Slughorn doesn’t seem to notice, but Riddle’s eyes follow him as he walks off. The look in them is different, now. Less predatory and more curious.

Draco is no longer on the dance floor, so Harry casts a quick  _ point me _ and goes to find him. He and Hermione will want to hear about this right away.

He pushes open the door of the upper room his magic took him to without thought. He should’ve thought, though. He’s greeted with two--to be fair, attractive--arses, one of which is quite full. Draco and the Italian stare back at him in shock for a moment before Draco reaches for his wand and Harry slams the door shut before Draco can hex him.

Hermione, then. Harry jogs back down the stairs toward the floo reception room, but has to duck behind a wall when he sees Riddle prowling through the otherwise empty room. It’s digging around through the guests’ cloaks. Harry’s eyes widen and he debates the chances of his successfully subduing Riddle without support. Right then, however, Riddle glances up and him and grins, showing off its fangs. It holds up an antique stopwatch it’s just pulled from an expensive overcloak.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Potter,” it hums as it brushes past Harry on its way back into the main ballroom. He stands there staring after it for a moment before turning and running to the floo.

Hermione isn’t happy.

Not with Draco, not with Harry, and most certainly not with Tom Riddle. He sees a light enter her eyes at the name and gets the feeling that she’ll know everything there is to know about him--it, before the week is over.

“You’re sure Slughorn really knew him? He wasn’t charmed or spelled or under the influence of a potion?”

“I didn’t have a bad feeling about the situation.” Hermione turns and glares at him.

“You didn’t check?”

“No,” he admits. “Wasn’t really on my mind.”

“Great Auror you’ll make,” she mutters. “All right, what  _ were  _ you thinking about during the situation?”

“Umm…” Harry pauses and thinks.

“Don’t try to summarize it, you can word vomit,” Hermione suggests. He nods.

“Well, I saw him coming, and then Slughorn introduced him, and I thought ‘Well fuck.’ Like, not literally--I mean, he’s hot as fuck, but yeah, no, more that I was fucked because I was trapped in a conversation with him? And Slughorn was just rambling on and on, and, uh, he saved my ass from making a stupid reply and then steered the conversation to safe ground? Like, really well, just totally took command of the conversation and Slughorn didn’t even seem to notice. He was talking about measures for Auror security and potions, but in a way that could actually realistically work?” Hermione is staring at him in an alarmed manner and Harry stops. “What?”

“No… just… was that everything?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so. I left then. Slughorn was so caught up with Riddle he didn’t even notice, but Riddle watched me the whole way out. And then the thing in the floo reception, but I already said that part.”

“Harry,” Hermione says cautiously. “You don’t sound very unnerved by the experience.”

“I mean… no?” Hermione takes a deep breath through her nose, like she does when Ron is being a prat. Harry’s confused. “What?”

“Harry.” She looks at him with a sudden seriousness and Harry straightens up in his seat. “You sound like you’re attracted to him.” Harry’s eyes widen and he splutters.

“What? No!”

“You think he’s physically attractive and you clearly admire his charms,” she points out wearily. “You said he used a lust amulet on you before? When he bit you two months ago? Can you describe it for me in detail?” Harry realizes what she’s implying and pales.

“Merlin. Bloody hell. You don’t think…” She keeps looking at him. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, it was about this big around, and…”

* * *

The art of creating amulets is nearly lost in the modern age. All witches and wizards who’ve taken arithmancy or ancient runes learn how to create basic amulets, but they don’t have near the properties, potency, or longevity of those created by the ancients. Those like the ones sold by shady antique dealers like Borgin and Burke’s.

From Hermione’s research, the particular amulet that Riddle had activated to sedate Harry had once belonged to the Black family. Unsurprising in that the Blacks are a very old, widespread family with a great number of family treasures that have gotten onto the market. Surprising in that Harry has enough Black blood in him to avoid the most severe effects he could’ve suffered, and his luck isn’t usually this good.

Old amulets like this one leave traces on the person who wears them. An imprint that remains even once you take it off. For a powerful lust amulet like this, it could potentially leave you with a heightened libido that may keep you from ever focussing on anything else. Harry seems to have avoided this; however, he was much too relaxed around Riddle, and Hermione is certain that the amulet is the cause.

Unlike a love potion in that Harry still has his wits about him when around Riddle and is fully capable of refusing consent, the echo of the amulet has left him with an instinct to relax around Riddle--or so Hermione claims. Harry wouldn’t say that he’s relaxed, so much as that Riddle is annoyingly un-annoying.

Hermione claims that he believes this because of the amulet.

Draco has spent much of this discussion drinking through Hermione’s liquor cabinet. The Italian guy is serving as his pillow as he drinks away his mixed feelings about the situation. Harry thinks Draco can’t decide whether to guilty about his part in the situation, or whether to laugh at Harry for being unable to find anything about Riddle to insult--except the near murder and wand hostage situation, of course--but still insisting that he’s not the slightest bit infatuated.

At the end of the day Hermione wants Harry to decide, then and there, whether he wants to fuck Riddle or to never see him again, because she thinks that Riddle will have a concerning upper hand in all of their social interactions. Tragically, Draco actually agrees with her, claiming that Riddle may appear at another ministry function and--particularly once Harry’s an Auror--Harry will be at a disastrous disadvantage if the vampire catches him alone.

Harry still disagrees with their assessments, but he agrees to think about it and firecall them Monday.

While he’d been perfectly fine in the months between the incident and that conversation, now Harry finds himself with a raging sex drive. It’s not as if he hadn’t ever needed to wank before now or anything, but now, during his frequent periods of boredom throughout the day he finds his thoughts turning to sharp cheekbones and endless eyes. He thinks about Tom’s strength--how he’d pinned Harry to the alley wall so effortlessly. Then his thoughts will drift to Tom’s long, dexterous fingers…

And by the time the first snow of November is falling, Harry is thinking about the vampire as a “he.”

* * *

There’s a large ministry function at the end of November celebrating something or other. Harry doesn’t go. He hasn’t gone to ministry functions since the disastrous one with Tom. Hermione never goes to ministry functions either--she feels strongly about the unnecessary opulence of them and wants no part--so he’s been spending a good deal of time haunting her apartment lately.

He’s not sulking. Not at all. Draco and his Italian are just blissfully happy and shagging constantly on every available surface and he’s annoyed at constantly walking in on them. That’s it. He doesn’t mind at all that Draco goes to every ball and hasn’t once tried to drag Harry along, content with his human shadow.

Draco hasn’t been encouraging him to come because Tom Riddle keeps showing up. Harry knows that, but he’s still been feeling unbearably lonely. Hermione is humoring him, but both of his friends appear to be a bit concerned by his dependence on their company.

So, Harry’s sitting on Hermione’s couch eating her ice cream in Theo’s sweatpants. He’s not sure why Hermione has a pair of Theo’s sweatpants, and he very much does not want to ask, but they’re terribly comfortable.

When Draco comes back from tonight’s gala he’ll undoubtedly have more information on Tom to share. In the meantime, Harry’s eating ice cream in advance so he doesn’t have to afterwards. Hearing that the object of his frequent wanking has “charmed so and so,” or “worn a brilliant new style by such and such” doesn’t do anything but make Harry more miserable. He feels cockblocked by himself, and it’s terrible, but he just can’t make up his mind.

Does he want to go ahead and shag Tom, despite the fact that his interest may not be entirely natural, or actually try to move on with his life?

Right now he’s not shagging Tom, but he’s also not moving on. It sucks.

A thud breaks through Harry’s musings and he glances up in alarm. Nothing that Hermione should be doing would cause a thud like that.

Rising to his feet, he draws his wand and carefully approaches the bedroom door. He hears another thud and swings the door open, wand raised--and finds Theo and Hermione. He sighs and closes the door. They hadn’t even seemed to notice him enter.

He stalks back to the couch and stares at the ice cream for a moment before chucking it across the room. That was it. He’s not moving on. He wants to be shagged, and he wants to be shagged  _ now _ .

A glance at the clock shows that the ball will be going on for at least another two hours before Tom is likely to leave. Enough time to don Harry’s dress robes and wrangle an invitation out of one of his father’s friends.

Tom has been trying to find out information about Harry as much as Harry has him. Hermione tried to lock Harry’s files, but someone in the filing department got them to Tom personally. Tom has charmed half of the Auror force trying to get information on him. He’s even tried plying Draco for information.

In return, of course, Hermione pulled all of Tom’s files, Harry learned everything about Tom from his school days, and Draco kept a close eye on him at ministry functions and pulled all sorts of strings among the Knockturn crowd to learn about his fifty years at Borgin and Burke’s.

Both of them seem to have an inappropriate interest in the other. Harry figures he can show up to the gala and drag Tom off to make out in a corner without too much difficulty. It may be his dick doing the thinking right now--especially as he’s far less concerned about Tom trying to drain him than he should be--but Merlin-dammit, he wants a piece of the asshole he’s been fantasizing about for the past too-many weeks.

An hour later sees Harry waltzing out of the floo reception rooms in his most flattering black robes. As he’d expected, Draco is off waltzing with his Italian and doesn’t notice him. His father is off with the Minister, so he doesn’t notice either. Mum is surprisingly also here, which doesn’t happen often, but she’s off in another corner chatting with some old school friends. Harry has a path to Tom free of friends and family.

Tom had been speaking with Lord Rosier, but catches sight of Harry as soon as he enters the room. Harry can see the way his pupils darken, and his eyes drop to the only-semi-discreet way Harry is hiding his raging erection. It takes the vampire moments to make his excuses and start cutting through the crowd. Clearly, Harry did well in making his intent clear.

He slowly backs up to stay near the exit to the floo reception, eyes locked on Tom’s approaching form. Tom is upon him, grabbing his arm, and moving him, gently but firmly, into the floo reception before Harry knows it. It’s a heady sensation: the too-strong hand on his arm, the lack of warmth in it. There’s a general sense of otherworldliness about Tom, and it’s intoxicating.

“My place,” he murmurs, pressing his body flush against Harry’s. “Or yours?”

“Yours,” Harry replies, rocking his hips forward a bit and sagging at the resulting sensation. Tom catches him and hums, hauling Harry over to one of the floos and throwing him in after the powder.

* * *

1950

 

_ Tom stared at the letter for far too long to claim he was unaffected by it. _

_ Since being bitten, he hadn’t left Knockturn more than twice. Once to Belgium to catch a thief who’d made off with Slytherin’s Locket, and another time to Albania in search of Ravenclaw’s Diadem, once he knew that Borgin didn’t give a fuck what he did with his free time. _

_ Polite society had seemed lost to him. No one knew he’d been bitten, of course, but he’d just… become something of a recluse. He was still poor, still had nothing but his accolades from Hogwarts, but now he also had a secret and was stuck with a job that had little to nothing to do with society outside of Knockturn’s shadows. _

_ Now, he was invited to Slughorn’s annual gala. _

_ It wasn’t truly surprising, as Tom had left the school with such potential… but it was causing the existential crisis he’d been avoiding to crash down upon him. Did he still have potential? Or had it been drained from his body with his blood? _

_ He was still brilliant, yes. Still had his magic. His way with people. He could still study history and artifacts and rare and difficult branches of magic; even better, perhaps, than he could before. _

_ His political potential, though, he had lost. Tom had nowhere to go in the world, nothing to do with the knowledge he lusted after. His pureblood connections would not take him to the extremes he had previously wished--he would not be able to unite them behind himself when the potential existed for them to discover he was a creature they found vile and base. No position in the Ministry would accept him, nor would any tradesman take him on as an apprentice. He could search and travel and learn, but he could never use that knowledge to gain power. _

_ How was that potential? _

_ There was no doubt, however, that Tom would attend. Not attending would isolate him further and raise suspicion. He’d just have to be on his toes and react to his changing circumstances as they changed. _

* * *

_ Two hours into the night, no one had spotted any difference with Tom Riddle. As attractive as always, as charming as always, as clever as always, if Slughorn’s frequent praises were to be given any stock. _

_ His bottle blue dressrobes highlighted the strength of his figure, and he kept his head held high and manner aloof. The purebloods cooly respected him, the halfbloods and weaker minds fawned over him, and  _ nothing was different. _ He might as well have still been human. _

_ Tom was forced to realize that the only losses he would cut from this transformation to creature were his ambitions. They must change. _

_ So long as they changed, though, Tom was still set to fare very well in life. He had no interest in risking discovery by courting the creature-hating purebloods and Ministry men, but if he could find a new ambition… something else to chase, to work for, to crave, something to do with himself…. _

* * *

November 1998

 

Harry wakes up feeling more relaxed and soft and  _ safe _ than he can remember ever feeling. The thin, soft sheets of the bed he’s in are curled all around him, and it’s more difficult than it ought to be to sit up. Glancing around, he smiles wryly as he realizes that he’s in the same bedroom as Tom put him in after their first encounter. His orgasm was much more consented to, this time.

He hums as he stands up, bare wood cold on his feet. The bites in his neck sting a bit, but damn, getting bit during sex is definitely a new kink of his. It’s like getting high (which Harry totally knows  _ nothing  _ about), but better; and Tom definitely enjoys it as well.

Speaking of whom--Harry glances at the door as it swings open soundlessly. Tom comes in, smiling faintly and carrying a tray laden with delicious food. Harry shakes his head, remembering Tom’s words from months earlier when he’d brought Harry food in bed. He feels around in his head for disgust, or concern, or nervousness--any sign that something isn’t right--but there’s none. He feels lovely around Tom.

“Back in bed with you,” Tom murmurs with a bit of joke in his tone. Harry grins at him and sits criss-cross applesauce on the bed, earning himself a grin in return.

Tom settles next to Harry with the tray on his lap and splays his hand across Harry’s chest. Harry looks down at it and smiles a bit as it gently pushes him back such that he’s leaning against the wall behind the bed. Taking his time, Tom feeds Harry breakfast one forkful after another. Sweet bread, eggs, hash, and tea. The tea is far sweeter than Harry normally takes it, but he doesn’t complain, tipping his head back and letting Tom press it to his lips. He shivers a bit at the obvious look Tom gives his bared neck.

When all the food is gone Tom vanishes the tray with a wave of his wand. Harry feels giddy at the power behind the spell, giving Tom a long look. Tom rather ignores him, standing up, stripping out of his nightrobes and beginning to get ready for his day. Harry stays quiet and watches him, waiting for Tom to say something.

“You would like this to continue, yes?” Tom’s tone is imperial, arrogant, assuming, fond, and seemingly hesitant to hope all at once. Harry supposes he’s smitten as he replies to the affirmative without even thinking about his answer first.

“Then I would like to take you to dinner sometime this week. I can explain to you when it is safe for you to come see me in the shop, if you wish, and you can offer up any boundaries of your own. I understand you have much family and many friends.”

“I do,” Harry agrees. “My friends will be careful around you. Like, insultingly careful.”

“That does not surprise me. They have every reason to.” Tom glances over at Harry and smiles the most beautiful, charming smile he’s ever seen. Tom’s teeth are so white they nearly sparkle, his short wavy hair frames his face in an impossibly dark brown that suits him fantastically, and his eyes--his eyes light up like Harry’s never seen anyone’s.

“I won’t give them any more reason to, and someday I may even earn their trust as I have yours.”

Tom leaves a few minutes after that, dressed in a casual grey suit with an attractive blue necktie. Harry stays in his room for some time after that, though.

He really did have Harry’s trust--but Harry can’t even put his finger on when he’d given it to him.

An hour later Harry is as freshened up as he can be without a shower and change of clothes, and carefully ventures to the front of the shop. Tom glances at him from his position behind a mountain of books, but makes no move to come over. Harry smiles briefly before picking his way out the front and back to Diagon Alley, casting a Notice Me Not in hopes that no one who would report it to his parents notices that he’s exiting Knockturn Alley in dress robes from a gala the night before.

For the first time in a week or two, he decides to floo to his own apartment, rather than his friends’.

Harry glances at his lovely plush couch, considering flopping onto it and not moving until the world makes sense, but decides instead to shower and change into a t-shirt.  _ Then  _ he’ll collapse onto the couch.

* * *

“Yes, yes!” Harry arches off the bed as Tom comes down again. Tom has taken painstaking care to be sweet and slow and loving tonight and it’s almost more than Harry can bear.

It is right at this inconvenient moment that Harry’s bedroom door swings open and Draco and Hermione enter, animatedly bickering over something.

Everyone freezes--thank Merlin. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if Tom had just kept going and brought him to finish but he  _ would _ have been endlessly embarrassed--and no one moves until Hermione grabs Draco and starts pulling him back out the door, while Draco begins arguing that if they left the door open it must be a free show, and Harry’s shock is just beginning to freeze into horror when Tom begins lifting himself up and down Harry’s cock again.

A minute later Harry is crying out as he comes, his cry unfortunately unmuffled, and Tom finishes a moment later.

Harry scrambles to pull on clothes as Tom follows his example a bit slower, appearing more concerned with Harry’s reaction to his friends’ presence than he is about Draco and Hermione’s presence. Harry pauses right before rushing out to explain to them that… well, yes, he is sleeping with the vampire, and yeah, he probably should’ve mentioned that--to look over at Tom. He’s wearing Tom’s shirt, which looks like it might burst at the seams at his arms and shoulders, and for pants he’d grabbed nothing but a pair of boxers. He looks edible.

“You’re okay with me telling them?”

He’s asking for so much more than one conversation.

There's a pause that goes on long enough for Harry to grow nervous, before...

“Yes.”

* * *

Harry sighs as he trudges into his apartment--and stops still in shock. Tom and Hermione are sitting on his couch, bent over looking down at a book together and talking so quickly Harry can’t even begin to follow what they’re on about.

“...Good afternoon?” he asks, slowly walking into the living room. He’s not going to be scared into sidestepping around in his own apartment, thank you.

Both of them snap their heads up and stare at him for a moment. Harry gulps and quickly sidesteps around the living room, dashing into his bedroom and quietly closing the door. No, he isn’t going to interrupt their… whatever that is. He has  _ some _ self-preservation, thank you.

He decides to take a nice, long shower in hopes of shaking off his restlessness and then maybe take a nap after. Humming, Harry pulls off the tight t-shirt he’d worn to sit in on the Auror exercise workshop and shimmies out of his joggers and pants. He sets the water’s spray to cool and hops in after grabbing a fresh bar of soap.

Just as he’s washing the shampoo out of his hair, he finds himself with some company. Smiling, he doesn’t fight Tom when chilled hands grab his torso and gently press his chest into the cold shower wall. The chill and the sense of helplessness leave Harry shuddering, and he supposes Tom appreciates the view if the hard length pressing into the small of his back is anything to go by.

“So,” Harry murmurs as Tom pulls down the shower head and starts gently washing out Harry’s hair. “What was that all about?”

“Mmmm, nothing I believe you’re terribly concerned about,” Tom replies just as softly. He finishes rinsing Harry’s hair and a moment later Harry feels the bar of soap lazily lathering up his arms.

“I supposed she would be more interested in accompanying me to the Creatures’ Rights Banquet than you would and owled her the invite some days ago. She wished to discuss her proposed bill on Veela bonding rights with me.”

Quick as a flash, Harry whips around and pins him against the adjacent wall. He drops the soap and brings his hands up to tangle in Harry’s hair as his lips are caught in a heated kiss. Smiling internally, Tom responds enthusiastically. He’d known Harry would be delighted by Tom’s helping out his friends, or Tom wouldn’t have bothered; but just how Harry’s deep love for his friends is manages to catch Tom by surprise.

One moment Harry’s tongue is making its way past Tom’s lips, and the next he’s grabbing behind Tom’s knees and pulling them up to rest around his hips, grabbing under Tom’s arsecheeks to hold him up. He kneads them as they kiss, and Tom can’t claim to be anything but satisfied with Harry’s competence. He hadn’t expected Harry to be a particularly skilled lover, but damn. If he must be wrong about anything, at least it is a pleasant surprise.

“I want to fuck you,” Harry says breathlessly, pulling away suddenly and leaving Tom craning his neck forward. He stills for a moment as his mind catches up to his dick, before leaning back and smiling slowly.

“Do you?” he asks, bracing his hands against the slippery wall and rocking his erection against Harry’s. Grip never slipping, Harry lets his eyes fall closed and moans so loudly Tom is a bit embarrassed on his behalf--and half giddy. He loves breaking people down to their lowest.

“Please Tom, Merlin, please, please, please, please…” Tom huffs a laugh. Harry may be strong, but they both know Tom is stronger. To see a great man submit to him… Tom licks his lips, and revels in the way Harry’s gaze immediately snaps to his lips, staring as if hypnotized.

“I don’t want to feel a single twinge,” Tom hisses warningly. Harry moans and responds immediately, lifting Tom’s legs up to rest on his shoulders for a better angle. All the warning Tom gets is the strange tingle of a lubrication charm before Harry is thrusting in a finger.

Tom lets his eyes flutter closed and his head rest against the wall as Harry adds a second finger, hardly thrusting them in and out at all before he begins to scissor them. His fingers are subtly pulsing out just enough magic to loosen Tom’s muscles, likely in hopes that Tom doesn’t notice. He does notice, but the magical power and level of control required to manage such a feat is so hot Tom doesn’t much care.

“How open do you want to be?” Harry pants. He’s thrusting his hips into the air desperately as his fingers fuck Tom. “Do you want me to be able to fit my whole fucking fist in? ‘Cause that seems awful excessive to me--” Tom pulls his head forward and shuts Harry up with his tongue. In general, he prefers his lovers too fucked out to be snarky.

“I--I’m gonna… I need to…”

“I’m ready for you Harry,” Tom whispers into his lips. Harry’s brain shorts out for a moment and he nearly slips before grabbing Tom’s arse with both hands and lining up his cock.

He stops for a moment, glancing up and locking eyes with Tom. Harry stares into the ethereal red for a long moment before closing them and thrusting into Tom.

Groaning, Tom lets himself go boneless, lost deep enough in pleasure to not care about the way his head is thudding into the wall with every one of his thrusts. Harry is doing all the work; Tom doesn’t have to lift a finger. He likes this a good bit, his muddled mind decides. He should definitely keep Harry around. Possibly, for a very, very long time.

They come nearly together, Harry wanking Tom until he screams, and Harry following him as Tom tenses around his prick. Harry has the presence of mind to gently lower Tom such that he’s propped into a sitting position in the corner before half collapsing himself, letting his head fall into Tom’s lap so he doesn’t crack his head open on the floor tiles.

Tom calls his magic to turn off the water and idly pets Harry’s hair.

* * *

December 1998

“Harry! I’ve hardly seen you at all since Halloween!” Peter exclaims as Harry enters the joke shop. Harry grins at him in return. No, Harry has hardly seen any of his family in the past few months--but he is going to change that, starting right now.

“Hullo Peter! Are you busy right now, or would you be up to lunch? I’d be happy to help around the shop until you’re free.”

“It’s the slowest time of the day and I’ve already got George in the back, so I don’t see any reason why I can’t.” Peter gives him a careful look. “Is the pub alright, or would you rather go back to my house?”

“The pub’s fine,” Harry assures him. He needs some serious advice, but it’s not the worrying kind of serious. Not really.

They walk there side by side, hands buried in their coat pockets. Hogsmeade is covered in snow and positively frigid this time of year.

First they catch up--Harry’s finally learned that Draco’s Italian’s name is Giovanni. He’s an ironsmith and a lovely individual and Draco is very much smitten and panicking over whether it’s appropriate for him to propose to Giovanni or the other way around, since Gio isn’t a pureblood (though he does come from an old, filthy rich family of a Malfoy calibre) and none of the rules Draco would normally go by apply. Peter tells him that Severus and James were in another fight and Lily is staying at Hogwarts right now with Remus--which Harry probably should know but is glad he’s hearing second hand.

They sit down and order some firewhisky and Harry takes a deep breath. He remembers every other thing he’s trusted Peter with a how well-placed that trust was, and begins to explain that he’s gotten himself into a serious relationship with someone his parents won’t approve of and he doesn’t know what to do next.

“I’m serious about him,” Harry insists, half pleas, before gulping down some firewhisky. “I want to go further, to take the next steps, to show that I’m in this for real, but I don’t know what those next steps are. What do I do now?”

Peter takes him seriously. He doesn’t insist Harry tells him everything, he doesn’t argue any of Harry’s half-formed arguments for himself and his anonymous lover--he just outlines various things Harry can do to move forward in his relationship. Eventually, he even manages to find the right one.

“If you’re serious about moving in with him, then, where do you think would be best for the both of you? Convenience of location, size, maintenance, locale…” Harry thinks for a moment.

“I… don’t know? Not somewhere like Mum and Dad live, in a famously family-friendly area… but I do think a house? He works in Knockturn…” Harry glances up at Peter’s patient expression and keeps going. “Somewhere old would probably charm him? And I have, like, no preference, so anything is fine by me, you know--”

“Harry, is he living in Knockturn because he’s rebelling against something, or because he knows what he’s doing? If it’s the latter, I feel like you’ve spent the past hour describing to me a man who would love to like in Sirius’ old Black house.” Harry stills.

“ _ Holy fuck. _ ”

* * *

Peter is an angel and had Harry the legal rights and physical keys to Number 12 Grimmauld Place by the end of the week. Harry decides that Tom probably will not appreciate him choosing to present him a house as a Christmas present--he just doesn’t really seem to be a holiday kind of guy--but Harry is nearly certain that offering him his own hearth and home on the old magickal holiday of December 21st will be a brilliant move.

Draco and Hermione begrudgingly agree to come over and spend the 18th through 20th helping him clean the place up enough that it probably won’t kill Harry and Tom their first night sleeping there. Somehow, though, “Draco, Hermione, and Harry” turns into “Draco, Giovanni, Hermione, Theo, Pansy, Blaise, Greg, Vince, Daphne, Astoria, Fred, George, Ginny, and Harry.” He hadn’t realized this many of his Hogwarts friends and acquaintances would be willing to put their lives at the mercy of the horrifying house, but as far as Harry is concerned, if they want to make Grimmauld Place’s restoration project a couple hotspot, they can go for it.

December 21st dawns bright and clear. The faintest sliver of a waxing moon is visible above the buildings of Hogsmeade as Harry makes his way across the cobblestones to Knockturn Alley. The perfect time to begin something new in your life, if Professor Trelawney is to be believed. Harry smiles up at it.

No one is out on the streets yet. It’s just shy of five in the morning, and they’re all still tucked in their beds. Tom will be finishing up his night and heading back to the shop in a little bit. Harry plans to be there waiting outside for him.

* * *

January 1999

“Didn’t you say all the bedrooms are upstairs?” Tom asks, reaching up to grab Harry’s chin and force their gazes to meet. At Harry’s nod, Tom’s smile widens. “I suppose we’ll just have to christen the den first, won’t we?”

He tugs on Harry’s shoulder, dragging the dazed man after him and through a nearby doorway.

The den is still a mess of dirt and grime and cursed objects, but Giovanni and Astoria had cleared the way to the couch and Harry had seen Hermione sitting on it, so it is probably safe to use.

Harry grins down lazily as Tom sits on the couch and pulls Harry onto his lap.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun with this! I focused a bit on Tom's vampirism, and the whole fic has a subtle sort of dubcon to it, but that's about all I pulled from your requests. I used quite a few Tumblr headcanons I've come across, too. I hope you like it!
> 
> Title and Summary are from Robert Frost's "October."


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